BHUTAN AND THE PRANKSTER LAMA
By Diana McLeod
When you travel to Bhutan as a tourist, you are required to hire a tour company and to have a local guide. Dave and I dread guided tours and tour guides. We didn’t want to be trapped for days with somebody who only knew predesignated “guide-talk.” We wanted somebody with a better command of the English language, and who could be an interesting person to be with. When we heard about a lama who had lived in the U.S., and who occasionally took tourists around Bhutan, we got excited. We contacted Ngodrup, and begged him to take us himself.
Ngodrup’s English was fluent. He lived in the U.S for a number of years. His wife graduated from Holyoke in Massachusetts. (Ngodrup is a married lama, with two young sons). He was able to handle any conversation – including jokes, sarcasm and American slang – with ease.
Driving with Ngodrup was always fun. As soon as we hopped in, the lively conversation started up right away. Ngodup was always in fine form, pointing out places of interest, cracking jokes, and telling stories. Conversationally, Dave and Ngodup were like two peas in a pod. They both loved to debate and discuss, to tell tales, and to fool around. They fed each other gag lines and playful insults like a couple of old vaudeville comedians. They debated political issues from the American Teaparty movement to Bhutanese politics. David told Ngodup travel stories, and Ngodup told us Bhutanese legends of Dragon eggs and Mad Yogis.
By the fourth day of our trip, Ngodup and Dave were really cementing their friendship. This meant that Dave was becoming perfect cannon fodder for Ngodup’s pranks. We spent the morning attending a puja (monastic ceremony) at an old temple. Then we drove outside of town, to a monastery built on a sacred pilgrimage spot. The temple complex was built onto the side of a long cliff. The most important feature of the place was a cave (a small indentation in the cliff face) where Padma Sambava (the founder of Vajrayana Buddhism) supposedly meditated. A temple was built to protect and honor the spot. Ngodrup took us inside, and we toured the temple while he performed a series of prostrations. There was a hushed and deeply religious atmosphere inside the old temple, which left us utterly unprepared for sudden irreverence.
As soon as we emerged from the temple, Ngodrup placed his hand on the cliff wall, not ten feet from the sacred site. He looked at Dave with a very serious look on his face. “To finish your puja at this temple, you must atone for past sins,” Ngodrup said. “It is customary to bang your head against this rock three times.”
Dave looked dubiously at the rock.
“Bang your head three times,” Ngodrup insisted. Then he looked at me, and raised one eyebrow, and winked. “Hard!” he commanded.
It almost worked. We have seen places in Asia where pilgrims perform strange rituals. For a second, Dave almost fell for it. But Ngodrup and I were already laughing. When Dave realized he was being pranked, his mouth just fell open. The three of us laughed so hard that we had to sit down and wipe away tears.
Later on that day, at yet another temple, we walked the inner kora (a circular pathway inside the temple that goes from shrine to shrine). We came to a stone bench that had a pile of heavy chain on it. Ngodrup explained that that was actually a steel chain cloak. Pilgrims would wear the heavy chains while walking the kora, to atone for sins. Ngodrup picked it up and put it on his back, to show us. Then he handed it to Dave.
Dave was very dubious about this, but neither of us could see any other possible explanation for the item. “How many times do I have to do the kora?” he asked.
“Three times.”
“Why is it always three times?” Dave muttered.
Ngodrup merely smiled innocently.
This time, Dave believed him, and he performed the kora at a jog. The heavy metal chain cloak clanked and flapped, making Dave look like a deranged bat as he ran through the darkened temple corridors.
Ngodrup thought this was hilarious. He was, clutching his stomach and howling with laughter as he watched Dave run.
Dave finally finished the third lap. He clanked his way over to us and shrugged off the cloak. “You’re pranking me again, aren’t you?” he asked.
Ngodrup was giggling too hard to reply. We still don’t know whether or not he was telling us the truth…
THE MASK: Ngodrup has two temples of his own, where he is the head lama. They are both in his ancestral village of Shinkar, which is a tiny remote settlement of about two hundred people. When we toured them, Ngodrup took us into his mask room, where they keep the masks worn by the lamas during festival days. The masks were depictions of fearsome wrathful deities, animal spirits, the Black Magicians, and other characters in Buddhist stories.
Downstairs, in the main temple room, there were two sealed chambers that we were not allowed to enter. These belonged to the wrathful deities of the Shingkar valley. Ngodrup explained to us (in all seriousness) that there were three wrathful spirits in Shingkar, and that it was his duty to pay homage to them, and keep them happy, so that no calamity would come to his little town. He even pointed out where they each lived, high up on the surrounding hillsides. Above the doors of these sealed chambers were a series of masks. Most of them were typical, but one open mouthed monkey-faced mask was really unusual. There are simian characters in Buddhism, but I didn’t recognize this one. I decided to ask about it.
“It’s a Yeti.” Ngodrup explained.
“No, really? But there are no high Himalayas around here! Aren’t Yetis supposed to be only in the high altitude regions of Tibet?” I asked skeptically.
“Why can’t they be here? There could be Yetis here!”
Ngodrup’s innocent demeanor was beginning to crumble. Lying did not come that easily to him. He was unable to hide his smile.
“OK, what is it really?”
He made me wait for the answer, continuing to pretend that he had been telling the truth the first time. Finally, he realized that we were not buying it.
“It’s a Halloween gorilla mask,” he confessed. “I bought it in California.”
“But what’s it doing here in the temple?”
“Why not? It is guarding the wrathful deity room. I thought that they would approve.”
I guess it was appropriate. Bhutanese people approach their local wrathful deities much like trick-or-treaters. You must give them treats, or they start to play tricks on you. Or much worse. But the mask was certainly the weirdest item I have ever seen in a Buddhist temple!
“I EAT, I SLEEP, AND I SH_T.” This is the charming answer I got when I asked about Ngodrup’s religious practice. Actually, it is kind of a standard answer that many serious practitioners of Buddhism might give to people who are seeking their wisdom. It is a joking answer, but it is also a serious one. It is a reminder that enlightenment does not exist outside of basic living. Buddhism teaches that enlightenment is found in the most mundane of tasks, and in the most humble of activities. Looking for enlightenment outside of daily life will get you nowhere. This is why Zen monks scold their anxious disciples to go home and do the dishes.
Ngodrup is married, with two children. He is running a tour company. He is practicing his Buddhism in the most difficult of circumstances- without retreating from the world. It is said to be easier to quiet the mind and rid oneself of attachments during a retreat into monastic life. It is harder when you have worldly attachments, financial obligations and family members constantly distracting you. Ordinary life – with a liberated enlightened mind – should be natural for all humans, but we can’t seem to find our way. But, despite his complicated modern life, Ngodrup has begun to tap into the well of inner peace – you can see it plainly on his face.
I wanted to discuss this further with Ngodrup, but I knew he was going to continue dishing out more of the same. The trouble is; there are no magic words to convey. There is no “answer” to the question about the meaning of life. That’s why the smart-aleck reply is so common. You apparently either get it, or you don’t.
It is said that Buddha wanted to teach his disciples about enlightenment, but none of his words succeeded in enlightening them. Words get in the way, because they compartmentalize something that cannot be grasped intellectually. Finally, he called his disciples together and passed them each a flower. One of the disciples, as he grasped the flower, also grasped the Buddha’s message. He attained enlightenment on the spot. The rest did not.
So what really happened? What was conveyed? I don’t know. I have more dishes piling up in my kitchen sink. I guess I’d better go do them.
“TOO BAD.” This was Ngodrup’s answer to all complaining and whining. He simply made fun of the whiner, whether it was me or Dave. Once again, he was reminding us to let go. All whining comes from attachment to self. Attachment to ego, attachment to plans (there was lots of whining about poor weather and poor visibility on the trip), and even attachment to physical comfort got no sympathy. He had no mercy, that guy. All self pity of any kind was met with this relentlessly smiling brick wall of an answer. He didn’t let us get away with anything. Talk about tough love!
Thanks for reading!
Sincerely yours, Diana
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